The Truce of God - A Tale of the Eleventh Century by George Henry Miles
page 18 of 222 (08%)
page 18 of 222 (08%)
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He laughed triumphantly as he said this, and, sitting down upon the long
grass, began to caress an enormous hound that panted at his feet, as unconcernedly as though the forest now contained nothing more formidable than doves or lambs. His horse, thoroughly domesticated, strayed a little from the dead boar, feeding as it went. The youth took off his plumed bonnet, and, flinging back his long black hair, fell into one of those light, smiling day-dreams which belong only to the young and innocent. He built fifteen air-castles in as many minutes. But at last he grew impatient; he sounded blast after blast; still no answer came. The trees kept up their sleepy sigh, and the sapless branches creaked, but no human voice, no human foot save his own, broke the silence. "Thou hast given me a goodly chase," exclaimed the youth, springing up and addressing the boar, "and I shall wear this in remembrance of thee." He drew his hunting-knife, and soon uprooted one of the monster's tusks. Depositing the precious relic in a hunting pouch he wore at his side, he mounted his horse, rather puzzled where to go. "It is easier to get in this oaken field than to get out of it," said our hunter, "but if the forest have an end, I'll find it. Now, my dear loitering friends, we hunt each other." Giving his horse the spur, and allowing the creature to choose its course, he called on the lagging hounds, and dashed away as rapidly as he had come. The wood was light as ever, and here and there sunbeam lay, like a golden spear, along the ground yet the rich lustre of the sky, wherever it was visible the hum of numberless insects, the fresh |
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